


Zmeu

by Megkips



Category: Fate/Apocrypha
Genre: Folklore, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megkips/pseuds/Megkips
Summary: Witches lived in the castle that towered over Trifas, and in the last century, they had opened the portal to Hell.    Everyone knew that.





	Zmeu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



Witches lived in the castle that towered over Trifas, and in the last century, they had opened the portal to Hell.

Everyone knew that. The witches had been there for centuries, all sporting the same severe look and hair color that was absolutely unnatural. That had been the first sign that they were witches, real witches, the kind of witches who didn’t sit in villages and curse crops but the kind of witches who had too many books with names of demons. The other was that they had purchased the castle outright with money from who-knew-where, and in the daylight, kept their distance from the rest of Trifas.

Nighttime was a different story. It was known that the castle was haunted. No one in Trifas batted an eye at claims of ghosts being seen. Drunks made up tall tales that were passed around the local taverns. Stories of seeing things fly in and out of the castle at midnight, strange lights, claims that a family member had gone up to the castle gates to never be seen again, only for that person to come and collect them from the tavern a few hours later. But travelers coming in and out of the city? Their accounts were different. There were familiars at the gate, they claimed. Ravens that perched in strange places and didn’t seem to move right. Eyes that appeared in the stone walls for only a moment, before disappearing. Some felt their energy drain when they were within the city walls. 

Then, one night in November in the year 1810, there was the ghost march.

Back when the Ottomans had overrun Romania, they had tried to take the fortress from the witches. There was a siege that ended in failure, followed by a full battle, followed by the capture of Ottoman prisoners. All of those prisoners had been publicly executed, their heads placed on pikes that lined the pathway to the castle. They had remained there until all flesh had fallen off and the skulls could no longer balance on the sharpened points. But the spirits of the Ottomans lingered on the grounds, their faces contorted in terror and pain as they tried to escape the invisible boundary line that kept them tethered to their place of execution. Crossing into the town was impossible, and it seemed as if the witches wanted them there. Until they didn’t.

The mechanism the witches used was a mystery. All the people of Trifas knew was that they had woken up in the middle of the night to see an army of Ottomans marching through their streets in single file, the line extending back to the castle’s main gate. Each man wore the same simple shift that they had died in, and each man’s face was locked ahead, moving to Trifas’ south gate. They moved as they had in life, still a trained army despite being dead for centuries. Citizens watched the grim procession through their windows, watching them all reach the south gate and then disappear.

There were no hauntings reported after that night. The people of Trifas rested uneasily afterwards. They knew the witches were responsible for expelling all of the ghosts, just as they knew the power of the witches was something they could never and should never think about trying to go against. They resolved to keep their distance, and to make sure that all businesses were closed after the sun went down.

A century went by without the witches doing anything of note. Travelers were still reporting eyes and ravens, strange lights still flickered from the castle at night, drunks still told their stories, but there was nothing more to say. The witches and their ghost march faded to the back of everyone’s mind. Businesses stayed open later. The Kingdom of Romania rose. Territory expanded.

Then the witches opened the portal to Hell.

The portal was not opened quietly. There was first a bright light that cast itself over all of the town, stirring everyone from their beds. Windows flew open, heads peeked out to try and see what the commotion was, only to be witness an almost blinding white light that hovered above the castle. Then all at once, a ground-shaking boom echoed off of the city walls, and the light descended into the castle, like a setting sun.

Everyone knew it was an omen, and the second world war following on its heels surprised no one. Nor did the communists afterwards.

Now, there were still a few residents who recalled when the portal opened. They were young children at the time, but their stories were not only listened to, but believed. They knew why the lights of the citadel were lit again, and that anyone with any lick of sense at all ought to stay in. That all of the shops, the bars, everything that was opened past sundown needed to close, and that something was about to come out of that portal.

Why the demon picked Elena’s bar, she never knew. All Elena knew was that at midnight on Friday, she had been minding a painfully empty bar when the demon walked in. The demon was not tall. It wore strange armor, and it had pink hair and purple eyes, and had wasted no time in hopping up on a bar stool.

“Hi!” it said, with all the chipperness and excitement in the world. It spoke perfect Romanian. “Can I have a beer, please?”

Elena’s dark brown eyes moved around the bar, ignoring the fact that her hands were now on autopilot. There was no one else present, and there was no doubt in her mind that this creature asking for beer was related to the citadel lights. Staying open in spite of everyone’s warnings had been an error.

Still, her hands finished going through the motions, and they slid the demon it's beer. The demon didn’t waste any time either. It wrapped both of its hands around the glass, and took a long drink. When it was satisfied, it placed the glass down on the coaster.

“I really like the name of your bar,” it said brightly. “Why’d you decide to call it the Hippogriff?”

Elena stared for a moment. Nothing about this demon’s questions made sense. She offered a cautious response. “They’re interesting animals to try and paint, I guess.”

“Ohhhhhh, does that mean you painted the sign over the door?” the demon asked, its voice excited. “Because it’s a really good hippogriff! It looks....” it trailed off, cutting itself off almost. “It looks totally noble and proud!”

“Thank you?” 

“You’re welcome! How come I’m the only person here?! I thought there’d be more people out on a Friday!”

The demon couldn’t be oblivious. It was a demon, and demons were always clever. The only possible explanation beyond the demon just lying was that one of the witches at the castle had cast some kind of spell to make him seem this stupid. Elena reasoned that was the only logical explanation, and that any information she gave the demon had to be something the witches already knew. “People generally go indoors when the citadel lights are on. I was just cleaning up the bar when you walked in.”

At that, the demon was quiet, and he took another sip of beer. There was a little frown on its face, and he tilted his head. “People are scared of the fortress here?”

“We try not to get involved with the fortress,” Elena clarified. 

The demon’s frown remained. “The mages don’t come down to the village at all?”

In spite of her attempt not to show any emotion, a small bit of surprise showed in Elena’s eyes.. “Mages?”

“Yeah!” the demon said. “Wait....did...did you not know that they’re mages?”

Mages. Well, they probably knew what everyone else called them. “As far as the all the stories go, they’re witches.”

For a moment, the demon went red, and he busied himself with downing the rest of his beer. It was as if he realized he said something he wasn’t supposed to, and that he needed to make sure he didn’t let anyone else know about his mistake. “Can I have another beer, please? I’m....I don’t actually think I can pay for it though.”

“It’s fine, it’s on the house,” Elena declared. Demons probably cursed you for not giving them free drinks anyway.

“Thanks,” the demon said when it was given the second beer. Before he put the drink to his lips, a big smile crossed his face. “Oh! I’m Rider of Black, by the way! I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before! Wait, you said that you were closing up for the night, right?”

That the demon realized he had made an error of politeness was a blessing. It saved Elena from giving her own name. “I was, yes.”

 

“Oh my gosh!” the demon said, putting his beer down suddenly. “I’ve kept you up way later than I should have! I’m so sorry! And you probably just want to go to bed now!”

It was blush-faced-red from embarrassment. The sight was beyond strange, and Elena watched the demon go through a few gestures that ended with him picking up his beer again and downing it all in one go. On anyone else, it’d be impressive. For a demon, that was probably a normal skill to have. 

“Okay, I’m done, you can go to bed now, right!?”

“I...yes, I can close up now,” Elena confirmed, still trying to make sense of the demon’s behaviour. It was ridiculous on him, and probably would be on a human as well. 

The demon hopped off the barstool that he occupied, and offered Elena back the empty glass. She took it gingerly, and as she did so, the look in the demon’s eyes changed from bright and happy to all too serious.

“Miss,” he said. “I really want to say thank you, and I want to suggest you go on vacation for a little bit too.”

Elena simply nodded. Then the demon’s face brightened again, and he began to head for the door.

“Thank you so much, and I hope your bar keeps doing really well! Good night!”

And the demon was gone. Elena placed the glass in her hand down on the bar again, and turned around to look at the bottles of liquor that lined the wall above the bar. She reached for one of the vodka bottles, poured herself three shots, and downed them immediately.

Tomorrow, she’d leave and visit her sister in Austria.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional materials give some background on how long Darnic's family has owned the castle (since the middle ages), which means that it has seen a lot of fascinating periods in Romanian history. Doubtlessly, it's gained a reputation on it's own, and it put me in mind of the stories of [Houska Castle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Houska_Castle).
> 
> [Zmeu](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zmeu) are likely what servants will be seen as, if they're seen at all by anyone else in Trifas.


End file.
